It’s amazing how we develop fears. If there was one cosmic secret to which i was privy, I would wish it to be that of knowing where phobias originate in the psyche.

By no means am I anything close to a “well read” individual on this topic, but of mild notable exception is the fact that I have indeed read some Freud and countless other philosophers/psychologists (not trying to lump those two professions together, i’m just partial to slashes). But nothing seems to qualify for me the true origination of a fear in a person’s mind. Perhaps I’ll spend the rest of my life pouring through books to find the one professional that can at least pin it down most articulately in the English language (or translations to such).

For me, the biggest fear is being misunderstood or misrepresented. I suppose that this is a watered down position on the perversion of truth. But whatever it is in fact, I’m deathly afraid of such occurrences. Perhaps i’m being too inarticulate here.

For one, I hate stereotypes. I’ve always thrived off of the counter-stereotype (ie - preppy+skater fashion, rebellious look+conservative ideology). It amuses me to no end, plus it’s my subtle f’you to the lazy global masses that refuse to see brethren as individuals as opposed to lumping them together to more easily understand them. So because of this dislike of typecasting, I’m dreadfully afraid of being pigeonholed as something I’m not. I’m afraid that the truth of who I am will somehow be misrepresented and misunderstood. This is my fear on a mild, inconsequential level.

Let’s take it up a notch. I quiver in fear (and partially swell with anger) when something that I’ve said is taken out of context. Perhaps it is because I consciously work at picking my words carefully and being lucid (although I regret not being consistently successful) that I go crazy when someone repeatedly takes things the wrong way. This to me is a bit more serious of a fear.

Skipping up many levels, the ultimate fear of mine is being blamed for something that I haven’t done. No, not in some childlike, “got unfairly blamed for breaking your mother’s good serving dish” kind of way; but rather in a way that involves your whole identity or being…with consequences that carry gravity such as keeping a job, or having a spouse leave you or being arrested. Being accused of cheating on a spouse (when you’ve worked so hard at being a good husband), being profiled as having committed a crime or having falsified reports about work performance are truly disheartening thoughts to me. And I suppose that the real anger/frustration/fear (see, slashes again) comes when *everyone else believes the liars.* That’s my fear… that I’ll be speaking the truth and no one will listen. That I’ll be pouring out my heart and being for a cause, to represent the truth and the majority will vehemently follow the Lie. From where did this fear come?

I’m not sure…but the effects of this anxiety are widely applied to my life; from my religious convictions to my art to my being in general. I’m deathly afraid of truth being smothered and being the only one trying to save it.